But Now I've Told You
by Loves to dance
Summary: Ginny looks outside the window and sees a surreal perspective of the recent past.


**Disclaimer: **The characters are from the Harry Potter series by the lovely J.K. Rowling.

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"Hermione," I yell, but nobody answers. Looking around, I notice Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, laying down on her bed. His eyes are pleading with me, wanting me to stroke his feline fur. Giving into his beady eyes, I agree to lay my hand above his head. Besides, I need to wait here for Hermione anyway. She told me to wait for her in her dormitory room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, so waiting was what I did. Eventually, I begin to ignore the cat. Angrily, he jumps off the bed wanders over to the windowsill. I start to feel bad for the animal and reluctantly join him at the small chair located next to the old window.

I stroke his ears with my hand, feeling the softness of his cat hair on my fingertips. Soon, he drifts off to sleep, and I snatch my hand back into my own lap. I look at him for a moment, but then turn my attention to the window. It's generally very boring outside, nothing special ever happening. Today, however, it's different. I see a girl sitting alone outside, beneath the blooming dogwood tree. At a first glance, it would be hard to differentiate her from the environment that surrounds her. Her pale skin and white dress blend in with the falling petals from the tree. Only her hair stands out, bright red. Her back is leaning against the tree, and it's only when she turns to face me that I see her chocolate eyes are filled with water.

I study her from afar, staring at her tearstained eyes. Her eyes appear to be as innocent and untouched by experience as they must have been when she was ten. I want to know what is making her cry, what could make a girl, so innocent, so pure, this sad. I wonder if there was a death in the family, but the thought instantly is erased from my mind. She's wearing white, not black. I looked at her more, trying to see something, anything that would lead me to the girl's past, anything that could tell me why she cries. I didn't even dare to admit to myself what I'd be searching for. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I feel a chill go down my spine. There was something about her that not only strangely disarmed me, but, in a wonderful manner, touched and disconcerted me. I looked away for a moment, but only for a moment. I was enticed by the girl, and turned my attention back toward her. For a moment, I had the peculiar feeling that the girl was someone I knew. Perhaps, a part of me was resting with her. But I dismissed the thought at once. To show myself that I didn't know her, I began to call her Mary. I didn't know anyone by that name, and it seemed to fit her, in her white dress and salty tears.

She pressed her eyelids shut, trying to fight away the tears that threatened to emerge. I could tell she was struggling, and failing miserably. Her pale fingers flew to her eyes, wiping away the tears. She mopped away the wetness on her fingers by running her hands up and down her white dress, but I couldn't figure out why. I allowed my eyes to venture away from Mary for a moment, and saw the reason why she abruptly stopped her crying. A man walked near her, no he wasn't a man, he was still just a boy, perhaps seventeen years old.

"How're you?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered, hiding her true emotions. "You?"

"I've been better," he answered. He sat down across from her on the grass, looking at her with caring, emerald green eyes. "Do you ever get the feeling that life is pointless?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, but I could tell she knew exactly what he meant.

"Just look at our world, there's all that hatred, all that hatred and misery and love. Is it really worth it all?"

"You have to believe that it is," she slowly answered, looking straight at him as she spoke every word. "Nothing is perfect. But you've got to believe that the future is going to be brighter than the present."

They sat in silence for a moment. Mary was looking down at the ground, taking blades of grass and slowly peeling away each layer. The boy, on the other hand, was looking at Mary. He studied her just as I had, wanting to understand what was going on in her mind.

"What ever happened between us?" she suddenly asked, not looking up from the piece of grass in her small, porcelain hands.

"We grew apart," he answered.

"Honestly."

"Honestly," he said, "you know why." They were both silent after his comment, but this time it was Mary who was looking at him. He was intent on staring at the ground. "I am sorry though, for this past year. I was awful to you, and you didn't deserve it."

She looked at him, staring into his emerald green eyes, and replied, "that means a lot to me."

"I knew it would," he said slyly.

Mary smiled for the first time. I could see that there was lingering passion between them. Their smiles were sincere, and neither of them could break away from the other's eyes. She let her uptight stance break away, surrendering herself to him completely. She was allowing him to study her moves, see past her bloodshot eyes and into her soul. I knew it was her soul that suffered, and her soul I could not reach, until now. He allowed her to relax, show herself in a different way. He allowed me to see into her, see that she was in pain without him, a boy, whom I presumed was an ex-boyfriend. He showed me that Mary still cared for him, still wanted to be the girl he talked with every night, the girl that was loved.

Suddenly, the boy pressed his right hand to his forehead, his eyes shutting to block out the pain. He didn't make a sound, showing that he was familiar to this sudden outburst of pain.

"Are you okay?" Mary asked, urgency written across her face.

"Fine," he mumbled as he stared into her eyes. "I have to go though… It's time."

Mary tightly shut her eyes and bowed her head. I could tell that she didn't want him to go; she didn't want the boy with messy hair to leave her. I could easily distinguish two emotions within her, both equally strong in her heart. On the one hand, she didn't want him to leave because she loved for him. She wanted him selfishly to herself, not wanting to share the boy. On the other side, she didn't want him to leave because of fear. She was afraid he might get hurt, possibly even die. I could see it all in her brown eyes; the worry, the fear, and the love.

"I need to face him," the boy stated.

"Be careful," she replied.

He looked deeply at her as he came to his feet, staring down at her freckled face. It appeared as if there was something else he needed to tell her, but couldn't quite find the words to do so. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry things couldn't have been differently. I wish they were, but I, well, I just couldn't be with you. It's too hard… I didn't want him to harm you."

"I know," she sadly answered.

He bowed his head and mumbled a goodbye before leaving her side. He didn't look back as he left, determined to face the task ahead of him.

Once again, she was alone. She was utterly alone, even the shadows and outlines of the boy weren't visible. Mary was left in the saddest of all places, her own heart. She was forced to sit alone beneath the dogwood tree, and absorb her own thoughts about her life. That's just what breaks your heart, being left alone to cry. Which Mary did, once more. She sat beneath the tree and allowed all of her sorrows embedded in the open air. It was no real pleasure in life, but it was needed.

Mary released herself from the support of the tree and allowed herself to collapse onto the ground. She looked up at the sky above her, and then shut her eyes tightly. A burst of wind swooped the dogwood petals into a heaping mess into the air, giving the illusion that the girl was falling. From the melancholy expression I saw on Mary's face, I guessed that she would prefer it if she was falling, just to escape. But it was just an idea, she wasn't truly falling. She was just lying there, looking innocently up at the sky, crying herself into a deep slumber beneath the dogwood tree.

I felt Crookshanks stretch on my lap, his nails digging into my leg. It's a small, sharp pain, but I don't mind it. He jumps to the ground and wanders across the room. My eyes begin to follow him, but I'm distracted almost immediately.

I see the Mary standing there; her brown eyes are watery, and a small teardrop lines her left cheek. Her red hair stands out against the white walls, and that's when I realize that she's inside the dorm room. I reach out to touch her, wanting give her a comforting pat on the shoulder. Instead of flesh, my fingertips graze coldness. I pull back instantly, but then reach out once more. Still, I can only feel coldness, and a hard, solid material. I stare at her for sometime, my hand still touching the mysterious material that separates us.

My breathing starts to increase as I realize the truth behind it all. My hand instinctively touches my face, and I feel wetness beneath my fingertips. The girl I'm seeing, is me, Ginny Weasley.

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**Author's Note: **Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this piece. I would love to hear your feedback… I originally wrote this as an English paper, but changed a few things to make it work for Harry Potter. Therefore, I hope it all makes sense… I'd love to hear what you think though, so please review!


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